


The Mission to Flirt

by MutedSilence



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awesome Greg Lestrade, Background Case, Bisexual John Watson, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay Sherlock Holmes, Greg Lestrade & John Watson Friendship, Greg Lestrade is a Good Friend, Hospitals, Jealous Sherlock, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious John, POV John Watson, Pining John, Proud Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27865210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MutedSilence/pseuds/MutedSilence
Summary: Turns out John has been staring at Sherlock like a love sick teen. Greg decides that John just needs to flirt. So, he does. Sort of. He certainly tried to at least.
Relationships: Greg Lestrade & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 20
Kudos: 142





	The Mission to Flirt

**Author's Note:**

> Did I get carried away? Yes. Did I ask for your opinion? Yes, please let me know what you think.  
> You are welcome to follow my tumblr. Or not. https://mutedsilence.tumblr.com/  
> Anyway, enjoy

John was standing beside a body as Sherlock was crouched beside. He had his magnifying glass in his hand as he searched the body. Finding out who had killed them. Looking for those small clues that ruined a person's life. John had no idea how he did it. He could tell you the basics, maybe more than the ordinary person, but Sherlock. God, Sherlock. He was amazing. John knew he was staring like a love sick teenager. He also knew that he didn't care. He used to. He really did care at one point. Back before he took a long walk off a roof. It's funny how life turns out, just a few months ago he was mourning the loss of his best friend. 

Sherlock had 'died' over a year ago. His miraculous return shocked the nation. John had just woken up and as he walked into the kitchen at baker street, he heard the deep baritone ringing through, "Pop the kettle on John." He didn't believe what had happened, but if anyone could come back to life, it was Sherlock. After the fall John had gone back to therapy. It took two months for him to finally give in and admit his feelings to Ella. She always knew how John felt about Sherlock. Who didn't?  _ Sherlock apparently _ . 

"You're staring." The rough voice of Greg Lestrade sounded in his ear making John jump. Greg had noticed, of course Greg had noticed. John shifted on his feet and cast a glance at Greg before looking back down at Sherlock. "Want to go for a pint tonight? Or are you two going to be busy?" John could hear the tease in his voice and was about to say something when Sherlock stood. Deductions flying from his mouth. John didn't even catch most of them. Just watching how his lips formed the sounds. "Brilliant. Fantastic. Wow." He said them without even realising. A dazzling smile lit up Sherlock's face and he strode away. Leaving John to catch up. He turns back to Greg. His pen scribbling on his notepad to get all the information. "Yeah alright. Pub. See you tonight." And John was off, trying to catch up to the impossible man. 

* * *

John walked into the local pub at seven. Greg could be seen sitting at the bar already nursing a pint. John clapped him on the shoulder and sat next to him, ordering his own pint. "Alright, Greg." The beer was placed in front of him. As he took a sip, he saw the amused smile on his friends face, "What?" Greg crossed his arms and turned towards John. He took a deep breath and blew it out before speaking, "So,"  _ He knew there was another reason for this. It's never just friends catching up, always an ulterior motive.  _ "How long have you and Sherlock been shagging?" John choked on his drink. Spluttering over the counter. Greg was laughing beside and held a hand up to the concerned bartender, showing that his friend was okay. 

John took a moment to calm down and wipe some tears from his eyes. He was panting when he looked back at Greg.  _ Always something _ . A puff of air passed his lips and he shook his head. Greg's arms were still crossed, John had spilt most of his pint. John reached across and drained the rest of Greg's pint. He avoids the eye contact Greg is obviously trying to make, looking at the glass in his hands. "We're not," His voice was small, hardly audible over the sound of the customers. "We never have, he - he doesn't. Anything. We're not a couple." He begins to laugh. A dry humourless laugh used to distract from the pain in his chest. 

Greg watched him, the amused smile slipping from his face. Realisation setting in as he saw the dismay on John's features. "Was it that obvious?" John's laughter had faded, the pain was carried through each of his words. "I've been an idiot." Greg watched on as John buried his face in his hands. He didn't know what to do. He thought they were together. Clearly, he was wrong. John's head fell to the counter, hitting with a soft thud. Greg placed a hand on his back, trying to reassure him, "I'm sure Sherlock didn't notice." A mumbled, "Oh, thanks Greg. I feel  _ so _ much better." came from the defeated man. Greg's exhale made John turn his head to face him. "That's not what I meant. He's too close to it. And if you're trying to hide it, he won't notice." 

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" John sat back up and looked over at Greg. He was becoming uncomfortable and John knew it. Greg ordered two more pints for them before he carried on. "Look, John. Sometimes you need an outsider's perspective. He might not have realised. Maybe, and I can't believe I'm saying this, flirt with the man. He won't date you if he doesn't know it's an option. You standing staring at him like a teen isn't showing him either." He turned and drank his beer. John sat thinking over what he had said.  _ Is it an option? Flirt? With Sherlock Holmes? Flirt with Sherlock bloody Holmes?  _

"He told me, he's  _ 'married to his work' _ . I'm not going to embarrass myself. I live with him." His words had become more confident, no longer hidden behind his hands or self loathing. Greg drained his beer, looking over the rim at John, "And when did he say that?" John had become more sure with each word said. "He said it the day we met, that first case. I asked if he had a girlfriend or a boyfriend and he said 'I consider myself married to my work'" He lifted his pint to take a drink when Greg burst into laughter. John placed his glass down again and looked over at his friend, slightly concerned. 

"You! You, John Watson, are an idiot," John was about to cut in - find out what is going on with Greg - when he kept going, "Such an idiot. The first case? A study in pink? That's when he said that? Seriously, John. Did you ever think,  _ maybe things have changed _ ? He didn't know you, and you didn't know him. Of course he turned you down. It's been over two years. Grow a pair and ask out your flatmate." He picked up his beer and took another sip, turning slightly away from John. John just sat there. Mouth dropped, eyes unblinking.  _ Has he been an idiot? _ His mind is racing out of control. He's stuck. Back at Angelo's over two years ago. His mind never left the table. What if things are different now? "Go home, John." He placed some cash on the counter to pay for his drinks then left the pub. 

* * *

John got home to find Sherlock reading in his chair. He had only been at the pub for an hour, deciding to settle in for a boring night, John sat in his chair across from Sherlock. "You smell like a brewery." He didn't even look up from his book. Just slowly turning the page as John sat. "Yeah, well - spilled my drink." Sherlock looked up at him, his eyebrow cocked, his book lowering from his face. John just shrugged and shook his head. They dissolved into a fit of laughter. 

* * *

John decided to give the  _ flirting thing _ a shot. I mean what harm could it do? If he does it right, he can come across as just a friend. While also planting the idea of 'something more than friends'. He thought about it all day. He had a shift at a local GP. After Sherlock's fall, John began working there more often. It was Ella's idea. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now that Sherlock's back, John hates every second. A constant stream of snotty nosed kids and adults with a cold who think they're dying. This.  _ This is why he became a surgeon.  _ You don't have to deal with people, they're out cold. No anesthetist to help him out now. 

John pulls out his phone in between patients and sends a text to Greg. 

**How the hell do you flirt? - JW**

It shouldn't be this hard. He knew that. He could pull any woman he wanted if he tried.  _ But this is Sherlock. This actually means something.  _ The realisation hit him like a truck. He couldn't mess this up. He especially couldn't get carried away. If he became too wrapped up in the idea, what will he do when Sherlock rejects him? Because he will. Why would he want John?  _ Why would he want me? I'm boring. I'm ordinary. He's - he's - he's magnificent.  _

The reply came 

You? You are asking me how to flirt with someone? You flirt with anyone. - GL

**Not anyone! And this isn't just anyone anyway. This is Sherlock. - JW**

**He's not there is he?**

John knew he was coming across as needy, but the last thing he wanted was for Sherlock to find out through Lestrade. The intercom buzzed and he asked for the next patient. His phone still in hand as they came in. 

No. He's not. Didn't realise how bad you had it. Trust me when I say this, you can't mess up. The way he looks at you. You won't mess up. Now I'm actually busy, believe it or not. -GL 

John put his phone away and looked up at his patient, "Sorry about that. So, what's troubling you?" 

* * *

The next day, John decides to go for it. Now, flirting the way he usually does, will not work. Sherlock is not some woman in a pub. John stopped dating months ago. He tried, he really really tried. Ella had said he needed to move on, so he picked up a woman in a pub. He then apologised and paid for her meal after having a panic attack in the bathroom. He felt terrible about leaving her, but he just couldn't do it. Ella then prompted him to try to date a man. So, off he went. He still couldn't. He told Ella that it wasn't right. It was too soon. Problem was, it was never the right time because it wasn't the right person. After her suggestion on moving out of Baker Street, John started to show up less. 

So, John was available. Sherlock never dated anyone. All he needed was to figure out Sherlock's feelings - if he had any - and show his own feelings. Not dating, easy. Showing Sherlock his feelings and figuring out if the man returned them, yeah, not so easy. John came down stairs and saw Sherlock sitting at the dining table. He walked over to the kettle and started making tea for them both. When he opened the cupboard he saw a jar of honey.  _ Perfect.  _ John pulled it out and placed it with the other things. Turning his head slightly to see over his shoulder he said, "Sherlock? Honey?" 

He could almost feel the stunned gaze from Sherlock. He was still facing away as he placed the tea bags in the mugs. "Yes?" Sherlock sounded cautious, slightly panicked, and definitely confused. John finished making the tea and placed the tea with honey in front of Sherlock. John settled across from his and picked up the newspaper Sherlock had abandoned. Sherlock watched him, his eyes flickering over John. His hand moved to his drink. As he took a sip, he seemed to break out of his confused trance, "You put honey in my tea?" John lowered the paper to look at Sherlock. He laughed as he said, "Well you did say 'yes' didn't you?" Sherlock went bright red. He tried to hide it behind his mug, but John knew. He picked back up his paper and hid his smile behind the pages.  _ Maybe he could do this. _

* * *

John was sitting watching the news. They had nothing planned, no case, no shift, nothing. So he switched on the television for some background noise as he thought about a certain consulting detective. That was made pretty easy by the fact that he was on the screen. Something about the last case they solved. Sherlock had thrown himself down on the sofa. His hands were resting beneath his chin.  _ Mind palace. _

_ What does he spend all day thinking about? He can be in his head for hours. Just sit there, not moving. It's fascinating. The steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. The way his eyelids flicker like he's in REM cycle. His eyelashes fanning above his skin. The cheekbones that could slice John's face. His perfect manicure. Long delicate hands of a musician. And yet, the scars of a scientist. His lightly muscled torso. Not so well hidden behind his tight shirts. God, those tight shirts. Each day John prays the buttons would just give up. His legs. They ran for miles. Even the trousers were tight. John knew. John knew very well how tight they could be. They framed him perfectly.  _

John found himself looking at Sherlock. He wasn't just thinking of him anymore, he was actually looking. Not just at any part either. He was looking at how his trousers fit today. He snapped his eyes towards Sherlock's face. His eyes were open.  _ Oh god, his eyes were open. How long have they been open?  _ John could feel his face heating as he looked at Sherlock. A smirk and raised eyebrow covering his face. "John?" Sherlock's hands fell against his chest as he looked over at his friend. John tried to save face and cleared his throat, "You're getting thinner. Want to go out for dinner?"  _ Hopefully, Sherlock didn't notice. Hopefully, Sherlock will believe he was looking at his stomach. Not -other- areas. _

"Sure, I'll get my coat." Sherlock gracefully stood from the sofa and moved towards the coat rack. Slipping on his shoes. John stood readjusted his trousers discretely then grabbed both of their coats, holding Sherlock's out to him. 

* * *

Angelo's was pretty empty when they arrived. They were shown to a table by Billy as soon as they stepped in. Nothing new really, although they did only tend to visit while on a case. They just started walking without direction. No plan in mind. They had ended up nearby before Sherlock asked where they were going. John had let his mind wander. Thinking back to his problem. He just... didn't want to mess up. John would be mortified if he asked Sherlock plainly and got turned down.  _ It had to be Sherlock's idea. _ That was his conclusion. He just wasn't sure how to go about that. 

Angelo joined them with his boisterous demeanor. A candle was placed in between the two men as Angelo spoke, "More romantic, free for you boys. You come back and make me smile." He pinched Sherlock's cheek and left to attend to his other customers. Sherlock's eyes screwed as he looked at the candle. John picked up his menu. He already knew what he would have, but the silence was deafening.  _ Sherlock has realised. Of course he did. John always points out they're not a couple. And now what? All of a sudden he's okay with a romantic setting.  _ John was getting away with his thoughts. Over thinking, that's all it is. 

He puts the menu down and sees Sherlock looking at him. No, not just looking. Analysing. Working something out in that big brain of his. Trying to work out why John didn't complain about the candle, probably. John clears his throat and hands the menu to Sherlock. "You will eat. It's why we're here." Sherlock tears his eyes away and takes the menu. His eyes skim down it before he places it to the side with his own. He gives John another curious glance before turning to look out the window. 

* * *

"The candle,"  _ Ah, here it comes.  _ They had eaten and were on their way home. Walking through the brisk air. Close, but not too close so that it is seen as something more than friendship. "You didn't shout your protests. You always do. You care what people think, and they think we're a couple. Time and time again, you correct them. Not tonight. Why?" John takes a deep breath. He knew this would be coming. Known it was coming for a while and yet, he still didn't have an answer that didn't follow the lines of, 'Maybe I want them to be right'. 

John takes a look at Sherlock. He's facing the ground. John looks away, out over to the shops on the other side of the road. "Angelo likes the idea of us together. It makes him happy. We don't see him often, but he loves to think we're a couple. I'm not going to stop him from being happy." He looks back over at Sherlock. Something passes over his eyes. Blink and you miss it. John couldn't tell what Sherlock was thinking, nothing new there. He turns away again, back to the passing shops and people. He still feels Sherlock's gaze on him. 

* * *

Sherlock had begun to watch John more often. He would look on with a curious eye as John moved about the flat. He hadn't tried anything else. Quite frankly, he had no idea how to keep showing Sherlock he was interested. That is, without actually seeming interested. It was all very complicated and even John didn't understand - and it was his idea. He tried coming up with little things to change. He didn't say anything about the candle. So, maybe, he should stop correcting everyone. Sherlock certainly noticed. He didn't correct people himself. Maybe he doesn't mind.  _ Maybe I've lost my mind. _

John thought how he could try and include more pet names. Honey seemed to work well.  _ Can't do that every time _ . The only issue was trying to fit another pet name into conversation naturally. He had gotten himself worked up trying to think about them all. All he came up with, was asking  _ 'Love?' _ as a potential answer to something he asks. Even that wasn't strong. After a while of mulling it over, he decided to try another train of thought.  _ There had to be something else. _

Turn down any woman that asked him out?  _ Already did that. _ Then again, he hadn't done so in front of Sherlock. So, now he just needed a woman to flirt with him, in front of Sherlock so that he can turn her down in the hopes that one day - if he's very very lucky - he can kiss Sherlock as a way of turning them down.  _ Yep. Definitely lost my mind. _

Perhaps  _ that  _ was the issue. Only women seemed to flirt with him. It hit him. While he was lying in his bed in the dark, he had yet to come out to Sherlock.  _ How do you bring something like that up? _ When he was younger, Harry didn't exactly come out. Their dad accidently walked in on her kissing some girl. As John later found out, it was her girlfriend. Their dad didn't take it too well and Harry moved out. John just didn't know anymore.  _ Should he just walk downstairs and be out with it? _ 'Hey, Sherlock! Guess what? I'm bisexual.'  _ Should he come home with a man? _ 'Hey, Sherlock! This is Joe. I'm bisexual.' John was having a gay crisis. He turned over in bed, trying to calm his screaming mind.  _ Should he buy a flag? _ 'Hey, Sherlock! Look what came in the post. I'm bisexual.' Okay, so turning over didn't quiet his mind.  _ Should he dress more like a stereotypical gay man? _ 'Hey, Sherlock! Have you seen my rainbow suspenders? I'm bisexual.' 

Why did he even have to? Why is it required to come out?  _ So you can shag your very male roommate. _ Well, apart from that. John spent the night tossing and turning. He had to come out. Somehow, he had to come out. 

* * *

"You didn't sleep well. I could hear you tossing all night. I almost came up to stop you." Sherlock was sitting in his chair, when John came down that morning. With a yawn and a scratch to the back of his head he replied, "You're welcome to come up anytime you like." Then walked into the bathroom.  _ Oh god. Oh, god. Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod. Shit! _ John slid against the closed bathroom door. His head fell into his hands and his knees came up to his chest.  _ What has he just done? Forget it. Shower.  _ John stood on shaking legs and made his way across the room.  _ Own it. Sherlock would have seen that as flirting. Right? _ John climbed under the steaming spray and began to wash himself rather surgically. 

_ Surely he would have noticed. He sees everything. He's the great Sherlock Holmes. What if he didn't take him up on the offer though.  _ John knew he was serious. He would have Sherlock join him at the drop of a hat. It's whether or not Sherlock wants to join him.  _ You're overthinking this. Again! Just calm down.  _ He climbed out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist.  _ He won't mention it. Why would he? It was just a joke. Right?  _ He started brushing his teeth. Lestrade hadn't called them in a while and he didn't have a shift today.  _ You need to get yourself under control.  _ He needed a cuppa. 

In his panicked state, John didn't realise he had no clothes. His clothes were in the wash basket.  _ Could just take them out. Get changed, put them back.  _ He moved to pull the clothes back out. His top was half way to his head when the thought occurred.  _ Walk out in just a towel? Sherlock is in the living room.  _ He's never done that. Sherlock has never seen John without a top. Even when injured, he has a vest. Sherlock has never even seen his scar completely. John took a steadying breath and tightened his towel.  _ It'll be a bit much if it falls.  _ He's not ready for that. 

With one more breath, he pulls the bathroom door open. Sherlock looks up a little before looking back down. Although he didn't look down for long, his head snapped up when he seemed to register what he saw. John walked over to the kettle and flicked it on. Trying to suppress a grin and keep his blush at bay. Sherlock's gaze was still on him, he could feel it. John turned to look at Sherlock, "You okay?" Sherlock's head shook and his mouth snapped shut. John looked over at him, actually starting to get concerned. 

"I'm -" His voice is croaky and cracking. He clears it before continuing, "I'm fine." It was still croaky. Clearing his throat had little effect. He is staring at John. His eyes looking over him. He doesn't blink. John narrows his eyes, trying to figure out what's wrong with Sherlock. "Sherlock," His eyes flick to John's, "Are you coming down with something? You don't sound too great." The tea abandoned, John moves closer to Sherlock. Forgetting about his state of dress. The concerned doctor taking over. 

Sherlock was pale this morning, his voice was cracking. John kneels in front of him. _Pale, voice cracking, sweating, elevated heart rate, looks like he'll pass out._ John places his hand on Sherlock's forehead to check his temperature, _High._ _Virus?_ John reaches toward his neck with both hands. Felling for any swelling. Sherlock's breathing is rapid. John tried to think if anything was going around. 

"Oh, sorry, I can come back." John turned his head slightly. Greg stood in the doorway, a file in hand, looking very uncomfortable. John kept his eyes on Sherlock, thinking through what could be making him ill. Sherlock's head slowly turns to Greg, his breathing fast and mouth open. His eyes blinking and darting.  _ Find if there's any pain anywhere.  _ "Sherlock?" His pale skin colours a little. Not enough, but a little. "I'm fine." He pushes past John and practically runs to his room, his door slamming behind. 

John stands and turns towards Greg, looking over at the closed door. "Nice towel." John's eyes snap to Greg. He was suddenly aware of his attire, or lack thereof. His cheeks coloured. "Sorry. Just stepped out of the shower. I think he's coming down with something." John waved to the sofa in a silent invitation and went back to the kettle flicking it on again. Greg sits on the sofa and places the file on the table. "I'll just get dressed. One sec." John makes his way upstairs. 

He comes down just as the kettle switches off. He makes three cups and takes one to Sherlock's closed door. He knocks twice, "Sherlock? Tea outside your door." He places it on the floor and walks over to the other mugs, then sits with Greg. "So, how's it going then?" Greg's voice is low, almost a whisper. John takes a sip and says, "Yeah, I'm fine. How have you been?" Greg huffs and rolls his eyes. "Not that! The mission to flirt. Looked like it was going well." He took a sip and watched John over the rim of his mug. John's cheeks began to redden.  _ The mission to flirt? Is that what they're calling it? Jesus.  _

"That? That was me being a doctor and friend. I actually think he's coming down with something. There's a virus going around and I think he has the symptoms." Greg raises his eyebrows at John. He gives a slight chuckle as if to clear some of the air, "Virus? Well, it looked like he was aroused to me," He laughed a bit more when John's eyes widened. "Anyway, brought that over for him to look at." He points to the file on the table and sets his mug beside. He gives John a smile and leaves. 

John picks up the file and the two mugs, walking through to the kitchen. The mug was still outside the door. He walks over with the file and a pack of paracetamol, slipping both under the door, and takes the mug to the kitchen to wash with the others. 

* * *

John didn't see or hear Sherlock for four days. He was moving around the flat. John could see that just from looking around. Well, it was nothing new or alarming. It's just that John was worried about the man. He really didn't look well last he saw him. He kept trying to talk to him. Every attempt was met with silence. He'd leave food and drink outside his door, just in case. The sandwich he left last night was replaced with an empty plate. Two mugs resting next to them. One empty, one half full. The case was solved and slipped back under the door. All notes filled out. John sent it back to Greg. They didn't get another one.  _ Wonder what he's doing in there.  _

On the fifth day, Sherlock emerged as John was making a sandwich to put by his door. John gives him a tentative smile as if worried he'll scare Sherlock. "You alright?" Sherlock stands tall, hands behind his back. He was fully dressed in his signature suit, trying to portray confidence through his posture. It wasn't really working. He clears his throat before speaking, "Sorry. You were right. Coming down with something. Didn't want you to catch it. I'm better now," He took a shuddering breath before adding, "Thank you, John." 

"Thank you? For what?" Sherlock was taken aback at the question. John hands him the sandwich and carries on, "For noticing? For making sure you ate? Giving you drinks?" He searches Sherlock's eyes, "Sherlock, you're my best friend. You do not need to thank me. It's my pleasure," John is still close to him. He moves back with a smile and adds almost as an afterthought, "Although, I would appreciate it if you told me. I was worried. You can still talk." Sherlock doesn't seem able to move. He stands in the kitchen, plate in hand. Eyes darting over John's form before giving him a smile. John takes a second plate that Sherlock didn't seem to have noticed. They both sat across from each other eating. 

* * *

Lestrade called them later on that day for a case. John found himself once again looking like a love sick teen while Sherlock worked. Greg moved to stand next to them and looked like he was about to ask John about what he had penned,  _ 'the Mission to Flirt' _ . John just shook his head before Greg had a chance to say anything. Thankfully, he got the message. 

A commotion took Greg over to the sidelines. John watched on from where he was standing. A young man was crying and trying to push past the police. Another man was stood beside. He was calmer and trying to talk to his friend. The crying man collapsed to the floor and Greg turned to catch John's eye. He sprung into action. John crouched next to the crying man, he was starting to hyperventilate. The calmer man spoke up, "That was his girlfriend." John looks up, confusion setting in for a moment before remembering the dead woman by Sherlock. John works to calm the man, Greg stood near him, unsure how to help. Slowly, the man's breathing calmed and John moved to let an officer talk to him. 

He stayed over there. Stood on the sidelines in case he was needed, watching Sherlock as he worked. "He your boyfriend?" John turned to see the calmer man beside him. He shook his head, "Nah, just my friend." The man nodded. His lips pursed as he looked over the scene before he turned to face John. "So, you're single then?" The question didn't seem to hit John for a moment. He was so wrapped up in looking at Sherlock that he needed a second to register the obvious flirt.  _ This is it! Show Sherlock you're okay with being with men.  _ He turned towards the man, "Yeah. Guess I am. Your friend will be fine by the way." 

The man shifts on his feet and crosses his arms. Looking John up and down, tongue running across his lips. He sticks his hand out, "Sydney Stott. And you are?" John takes his hand in his, "John. John Watson. Nice to meet you." Sydney's tongue runs over his lip again, his eyes darting to John's lips. "So,  _ John _ . How do you know he'll be fine?" Sydney's hand was still holding on, he stopped shaking and it had become more a hand hold than a hand shake. "I'm a doctor. It was just a panic attack." 

Sydney's face darkened and he looked behind John. He was about to turn when a familiar deep voice sounded in his ear, "John." Their hands dropped and John turned slightly so he could face both the men. "Sherlock! This is Sydney. His friend was the victim's girlfriend." Something passed over Sherlock's face that John didn't recognise. He was scowling at Sydney, eyes deducing. He sighed and said, "Come, John. We're done here." 

John shot Sydney an apologetic smile and a shrug, then moved to follow Sherlock. A tug at his arm stopped him and Sydney slipped a piece of paper into John's hand, "Call me." John gave him another smile and followed after Sherlock. 

They rode in the taxi in silence. Sherlock broke the silence when they arrived home. "He was flirting. He gave you his number." John was taking off his coat. _ Play this cool, Watson. Don't blow it. _ He crossed over to his chair. Getting settled before he replied, "Yes, he did. Might call him." John picked up a book he had left next to his chair and flicked to his page. Sherlock didn't seem to be dropping this. He was standing next to the chairs looking down at John. "You're going to call him?" John nodded. "For sex?" That got his attention. John looked up from his book, still feigning interest. He looked at Sherlock. The slightly angry expression he was trying to hide.  _ Why is he angry? _ "Yeah, maybe." He looks back at his book. 

"So what? You're suddenly gay?"  _ This is it. Time to come out.  _ John's hands were slightly sweating. He tried to give an uninterested look as he closed his book. Turning in his chair to face Sherlock, he takes him in.  _ He looks so confused. It's adorable.  _ "Sherlock. I'm not 'suddenly gay' as you so eloquently put it. I'm bisexual. Always have been. Thought you knew." Sherlock stood, his mouth opening and closing repeatedly. No words forming. Then he spun on his heels and stalked off to his room. Door slamming behind.  _ He's been spending more time in his room lately. _

John sent off a text to Greg. He needed something to do. Something to distract him. 

**Hey, busy? Pint? -JW**

The response was instant.

Yeah. Just off now. Meet you there. -GL

* * *

John arrived first. Once he had a pint for each of them he went to find seats. The pub was busier, but he managed to find a place. Greg joined him soon after. "So…" John said nothing. Greg rolled his eyes, "You hooked up! At a crime scene! But not with Sherlock!" He shook his head and took a deep inhale. "What happened to the Mission to Flirt? I thought, maybe, just maybe, it was to make him jealous. Why are you here then? I thought you would have been shagging his brains out, but no! You're in a pub, with me, and some stranger's number." He downed half his pint in one. Fixing John with a look - that he was certain - was reserved for his kids. 

John sighed. Giving in. "He locked himself in his room again." "What and you didn't follow?" John snorted on his beer.  _ Need to stop drinking when Greg speaks. _ "I came out." His voice was small. Lost in the sound of life all around him. Greg slapped him on the back and went to the counter. He came back a few moments later with the drinks. "How did it go? Congrats, man, really. I'm proud of you." John buried his face in his hands and told Greg all about Sherlock's reaction. His face remained buried in his hands. He didn't dare look up. Looking up made it real. 

When he stops he takes a shuddering breath before lowering his hands. Taking a shaking sip of his drink. Greg is watching him, a sympathetic gleam in his eye. They sit in silence for a while. Neither willing to break it. Just sipping at the foam. "John? Can I be frank?" John places his beer down with a nod of the head. "Now, don't take this the wrong way, but I think Sherlock may just like you back." John snorted, unable to stop it. "No, no. Hear me out. When - what's his face - was chatting you up, Sherlock was in the middle of his deductions. He was calling us all idiots, you know how he loves that. Well, he saw you and stopped. Looked like a little hurt puppy. He just walked away. To you. Looks like he's a green eye." 

John contemplates this.  _ Is that why he acted strange today? Is that why he was angry at my coming out? _ Greg leans in, "When I walked in on you two, he didn't look sick." John looks towards his friend at this. Shaking his head and taking another sip of his drink before talking, "No, that's where you're wrong. He had all the symptoms. Then, when he left his room, he said he stayed away because he was sick and didn't want me to catch it." John felt strangely triumphant.  _ Is this a win? No, not really Watson. Think it through.  _

"What symptoms?" John looks back over his friend. His glass was half raised to his smirking lips. His eyebrows high as he tipped his glass slightly before drinking. "He was pale, which brought me over to him. His voice was croaky, I assume it hurt as well. Sweating, his temperature was higher and he was sweating. He looked almost catatonic. Heart rate and breathing was also alarmingly high." Greg just laughed. A full chortle. John just watched on in horror.  _ This is how he reacts to Sherlock being ill? _

When he calms he finally manages to get out, "You were practically naked! Of course he reacted that way," John's eyebrow furrowed, not able to follow how his attire could cause Sherlock to get ill. "Elevated heart rate is a sign of attraction. The rest? That's all signs of arousal. Although, maybe his were a little more than most from what you're saying. I've never seen more than your bare arm, I assume you don't walk around in a towel ordinarily," John shook his head. Still completely confused as to how that was relevant. "He was overwhelmed. Go home and talk to the man. He's been hounding me all week." John opens his mouth to say something and Greg just waves his hand. Dismissing him and turning back to his current pint. 

* * *

John climbed the seventeen steps to the flat. His feet dragging him down, feeling like deadweights on the ends of his legs. The flat was plunged into darkness. _ Sherlock must still be in his room. _ He walked through to the kitchen, lights still off as he made his way. As he placed his keys down on the table a voice sounded from behind, shielded from the darkness, "You've been acting differently." John instinctively hit forward, fist connecting with jaw as he spun around toward the offender. He draws his hands back up as the dark figure staggers towards the wall. The lights flick on, momentarily blinding John. Sherlock was huddled over, his hand on the light switch, "Ow! What was that for?" He rubs his jaw and John stands down. "You cock! I'm ex-army and you sneak up on me!" He lets out a deep breathe and steps towards the man, "Let me see, then." 

Sherlock lets him inspect his jaw. John's hand rests against Sherlock's face as he looks. He can feel a shiver run through Sherlock. He spoke against John's hand, his words hushed as if only for them. "You've been different lately. Are you alright?" John's thumb runs over Sherlock's cheek. He looks at the everchanging eyes, concern filling them as they look back. John's thumb continues to stroke the cheek, they're close. Closer than they had ever been. Their breath ghosting across the other's face. "I'm fine, Sherlock." 

They stay standing there for a while. John can't tell how long exactly, they had fallen into a safe comfortable silence as they looked at each other. Then, John notices his thumb. The thumb he had evidently lost control of. He clears his throat and draws back. Hand falling to Sherlock's shoulder. He gives a gentle squeeze before saying, "Just a little red. Don't sneak up on me in the future, you daft git." Sherlock swallows and John watches as his throat moves.  _ You're close enough to just… latch on. _ That thought sobered him and he drew back completely. His hand dropped as he stepped back, leaving Sherlock in the kitchen as he went to bed. 

* * *

It had become his mission to  _ not _ flirt. He was terrified that he had shown his hand. Sherlock couldn't know.  _ What was he thinking? _ He knew it would never work out.  _ Now look where it's got you.  _ It was easy to avoid Sherlock. John had picked up extra shifts, longer shifts in fact. He would come home exhausted. It also made it easy because John was certain, Sherlock was avoiding him too. This went on for a week. It couldn't last. 

His phone started to ring at five in the morning. Scrambling to stop the screeching, John answered without looking. 

"John!" 

"Who-wha?" 

"It's Greg, Sherlock's been hurt -" 

"WHAT? Where are you, I'm on my way?" John was instantly awake, pulling his clothes on. The phone nestled between his chin and shoulder. 

"Took him to Barts. Found him in an alley. Where are you? I'll pick you up." 

"Home. What do you mean, alley?" 

"What do you mean, home?" 

"You just woke me up. Greg! The alley?" 

"Just woke up? Wha-" 

"GREG!" 

"I'm on my way, calm down." 

"Calm down? Calm down? Why was he in an alley?" John was running down the stairs, throwing open the door to look for Greg on the chilly morning air. 

"He was after the suspect. I thought you were there?" 

The car pulled up and John tore open the door and collapsed into the seat. Switching his phone off. He turns to Greg as he pulls away. "Suspect? What suspect? I didn't even know there was a case." Greg turns slightly to look at John, "He didn't tell you?" John slumped back in the seat, looking ahead. His leg bounced as they made their way to the hospital. 

His energy was building within him, his nerves running his mind.  _ Why didn't he tell me? I'm going to fucking kill him. I'm going to kiss him then punch him. I'm going to make him sorry for not telling me. I can't loose him. Doesn't he know what it will do to me? Why is Greg driving so slow? Sherlock needs me. He better be okay. Calm it, Watson, you're going to hyperventilate. No help for Sherlock in that state.  _ The car hasn't even come to a complete stop before John has run through the entrance. He was certain he scared the poor receptionist as he demanded the room number, but he had much more important things, he can apologise later. 

Sherlock was lying in a hospital bed. John could see exactly what had happened, Sherlock looked as if he had been beaten to a pulp. He was asleep. John loved to see him asleep, so unguarded and gentle, but not like this. Never like this. He steps into the room and falls against the chair beside him. Taking Sherlock's hand in his own, he places a gentle kiss. A second, then a third, then let his head fall on top. His cheeks grew wet as he sat there. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I didn't know. I didn't know." His head shook against Sherlock's hand as he mumbled to himself. 

The long fingers pull away and curl into John's hair. He lifts his head to look at Sherlock. The hand falls and rests against his wet cheek, rubbing away the tears. John stands and leans towards Sherlock, his own hand resting on Sherlock's cheek. He leans in and presses a small delicate kiss on Sherlock's lips. It's unhurried and soft, just how John wanted it to be. Sherlock pushed back against John's lips, his hand sliding to the back of John's head. John pulls away, his eyes closed, foreheads resting against each other. Just breathing in each other's air. 

"Don't ever do that to me again." John's words are more like breathes of air than actual words. They choked and caught in his throat as another tear rolled down his cheek to land on the man below. 

They don't know how long they stay like that. Time doesn't exist. Sherlock is okay. Nothing else matters to John at that moment. But, of course, someone has to break the moment. That someone clears their throat. He turns his head to see a nurse standing beside. John steps away and spots Greg by the door. His arms are crossed as he leans against the door frame, John walks towards him. Together, they walk to get coffee. 

"So… You kissed Sherlock." Greg had a smug tone to his voice.  _ Was it smug? Or was he just overthinking? Why would Greg be smug about him kissing -- Oh shit.  _ John stopped dead in his tracks. Making a doctor curse under her breath as she moved around him. Greg turns to face him, wondering why he stopped. "What have I just done?" The words pass John's numb lips repeatedly. It's like a stone had been dropped on his chest. A vice clamping around his heart. A snake curled around his neck. Frostbite in his fingers. Greg takes hold of him from behind and directs him to a chair. He disappears for a second and then John feels the cold water slipping past his lips. He gulps it down as if he had spent a month in a desert. 

"John, you're panicking. It's okay, you had a fright, it was natural. Anyway, from where I was standing, he seemed to really enjoy it." John's head fell into his hands and started shaking. "Do you want to go back? Just-- talk to the man, alright?" John starts to laugh. A deep shaking laugh that starts quiet before it ripples through his body. Greg looks on in concern. His friend may have just lost his mind.  _ Perhaps I have lost my mind.  _ John takes a shaky breath then stands, nodding towards Greg he turns back towards Sherlock's room. He doesn't move, just stands, looking at where he came from. Greg follows his line of sight. There's no one there. "John?" He starts to walk. A slow pace. 

John looks into Sherlock's room. He is standing by the side of his bed, half dressed. His shirt resting between his nimble fingers. He looks up at John in the doorway and straightens his back, a slight wince flickering across his features. When he doesn't move - Greg huffs and pushes John into the room, closing the door behind them. 

"John, listen, I should have told you where -" John cut him off, unable to contain all his thoughts long enough to hear whatever it is Sherlock had obviously prepared. "Are you okay? How hurt are you? Jesus. I was terrified when Greg called, he thought I had come with you and I had just woken up. I thought the worst, how can you not? I raced here as soon as I could and the entire time I was thinking how I would kill you. Then I thought I would kiss you first because if I didn't and you weren't here then I would never forgive myself. Why didn't you tell me? I would have come. I know I've been weird lately, it's hard to explain, it's part of the mission and -" John cut himself short, his words had been tumbling over each other in a haste to escape the vice in his chest. Sherlock stood in front of him, watching as John paced to expel the excess energy. They looked each other in the eye and John said simply, "I'm sorry." He collapsed in the chair. 

John looked at the hands in his lap. Sherlock placed his shirt down on the bed and stepped towards John. His steps tentative as he moved around the bed, pain still etched into his features. Stood in front of John, Sherlock places his index finger under John's chin to push his head up. His head went willingly and he gazed up at Sherlock. Neither of them spoke for a while. 

Sherlock bent down slowly, masking his pain as he moved closer to John. Their lips connect in a tender kiss. They don't move, their lips just touching. Sherlock's finger still resting on John's chin, he pulls back slightly, "Is this okay?" The words rest against John's lips, their gazes fixed on each other. In answer, John pushes them back together. His hand moved to sit on Sherlock's cheek. This time they both press into the kiss, lips moving against the others. Both hurried and cautious. Sherlock groans and John pulls away quickly. Registering the position Sherlock is standing, John stands and moves him to sit on the bed. 

Sherlock looks on in confusion as John pushes him to sit on the bed. Worry in his eyes. John places his hand back onto Sherlock's cheek, he rubs against the prominent cheekbone and slips himself in between Sherlock's legs. That's how Lestrade found them. John stood in between Sherlock's legs as they frantically kissed. He cleared his throat and both men looked up, their cheeks colouring a slight pink. "I can give you a lift home, but if you'd rather sit and snog in a hospital… I'll be on my way?" John reaches behind Sherlock and passes him his shirt. Their cheeks growing more pink as they realised Sherlock didn't have a shirt on. 

The ride home was quiet and just a little tense. Sherlock had questions, John definitely did. They sat in the back as Greg drove, both looking out of their windows as the world passed. Greg didn't say anything else and John was thankful for that.  _ Does that mean Sherlock likes him back? _ He turns his head to look at Sherlock. Taking in his expression - or what he could see of it. Sherlock, sensing John's lingering gaze, turns to look at him. His lips rising in a smile that John happily returned. 

It took Sherlock longer to climb the stairs. John carried his prescription bag and placed it on the table, taking out some pain killers for when Sherlock came in. Sherlock collapsed onto the sofa. John brought the pain killers and a glass of water over, placing them on the coffee table. As he turned, Sherlock's fingers wrapped around his wrist, stopping him from leaving. John turned back and offered a confused smile. Sherlock just laid there on the sofa, John stood over him. Sherlock began to pull at the wrist, making John bend down a little. He let go of John's wrist and took hold of his collar, pulling John down quickly to kiss him. John fell slightly, but caught himself on the sofa arm. Once over his initial shock, John eagerly kissed back, leaning further into Sherlock. 

After a few minutes of snogging, Sherlock pushed back, taking the pain killers from behind John. He gulped them down and asked, "What mission exactly?" It took a moment for John to understand what was asked, when he did his face turned red and he sat back on his heels. His hands flew to his face in embarrassment. He could hear Sherlock chuckling over the blood pounding in his ears. Head still buried, he spoke, "The Mission to Flirt, I think Greg coined it." His hands dropped and he looked at Sherlock's open and confused face. 

John sighed.  _ No choice now. Tell him. _ "Greg told me how obvious my attraction was for you. He said I should just flirt. 'What harm would it do?' So, I went with it. Although, I panicked when we got close, remember? After I hit you? I'm sorry, it was stupid." John looked towards the floor. 

"You're attracted to me?" His voice was quiet. John looked up at Sherlock. He gave him a small nod in response and let his head fall again. "Well. That's good then otherwise we'd make terrible boyfriends." John's head snapped up. Mouth hanging open as he looked at Sherlock's genuine smile. "Oh, do come on, John. Obviously I'm attracted to you too. More than that, I'd say. Surely you noticed after you came out the shower in just a towel." John's eyebrows furrowed and he looked towards Sherlock. "Seriously John. How did you miss my erection? You were right in front. I thought you were trying to save my embarrassment by talking about me having a virus." He gave a chuckle, that died when he saw John's face. 

John looked up, coughing to rid himself of the lump in his throat, "Boyfriends?" Sherlock sat up. Looking John over, "I mean, if you want that - that is." John stood and sat beside Sherlock, pulling him into a kiss. A tender loving kiss that he hoped to show Sherlock what he was thinking. John separates their lips. Hardly any distance is between them, only a hairwidth, "I'd love to be your boyfriend." Sherlock's face lights up, a dazzling grin that John kisses. They sit there. Sharing small caresses and any type of kiss they could. 

* * *

They had settled into their relationship very easily. Instead of hiding their thoughts, they said them aloud. They touched frequently. Knees connected under the table, a hand on the small of the others back as they moved behind, fingers carding through hair as they passed, kisses to any and all skin, curling up together. Turns out, Sherlock loved to cuddle. As did John, but not as much as Sherlock. When John sat down, Sherlock would soon follow and wrap his limbs around John. They had begun sleeping together in Sherlock's room. 

That night after their confessions, John made his way to bed. An hour later he was woken by Sherlock, "John? Can I - maybe - join… you." John moved over to let Sherlock wrap himself around him. Pulling him close and falling asleep. The next night, it happened again. So, on the third night, John gave Sherlock a kiss goodnight and walked into Sherlock's bedroom. He knew Sherlock still had some pain. It was easier and more convenient for both of them, and Sherlock wouldn't have to ask permission. Sherlock's bedroom had become their bedroom. 

John had banned him from cases until all his bruising and pain had gone. Sherlock didn't mind. He wasn't bored now he had John. They told Mrs Hudson, well I say 'told'. Mrs Hudson had walked in when they were wrapped on the sofa kissing. Greg knew as well. He had sent them both a text after the hospital.

Congratulations -GL

_ Thank you, Lestrade. Take it you won the pool. -SH _

Congratulations. Mission accomplished. Told you -GL

**Yeah, yeah. Thanks. He's not to have any cases for a while. -JW**

* * *

During the next crime scene, John was aware of the officers talking in hushed tones behind his back. He just really didn't care. It had been two weeks since they got together. It had been going really well. "You're grinning." John turns to see Greg. They were stood beside two bodies as Sherlock worked. If John was honest, the smile hadn't left his face for two weeks. Sherlock began to give his deductions to the awaiting officers. Then took John's hand in his own. Their fingers intertwined, they walked to catch a cab. John stopped him and pulled him into a deep kiss, right there on the side of the road. "Fantastic. You're amazing." 


End file.
